Broken Smile
by Clez
Summary: Abigail Whistler isn't all bows, arrows and badass attitude... she has a human side too, just like everyone else it's just a little harder to see. Unless you know where to look.


**Author's Note:** Okay, the muses for these two kinda… don't like me very much. Don't think I'll be writing many more of these. Hope you enjoy it anyway, for what it's worth.

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The rooftop wasn't the most agreeable place in the city, by far, but it was quiet, and it was secluded, as far as the population and danger went. Up here, they were alone. At least… for the moment, the woman thought she was alone, but she should have known better really, than to think he'd let her out of his sight when she was feeling how she was.

But that was just the problem. He didn't know just _how_ she was feeling, and he felt guilty for that. He'd known her a few years now, at least, and he thought he should know her better by now. True, he could pretty much tell anyone her favourite movie; colour; shirt; food and ice cream flavour, but… he couldn't read her posture as he stood at the top of the fire escape, frowning lightly, the gentlest of furrows in his brow to show his own emotions.

Abigail's red-brown hair whipped ever so softly around her head and face as she tilted it downward at an angle, almost as if she were watching the streets below the many storeys of the building, from the dizzying heights of the roof where she had searched out isolation.

She should have known better.

Hannibal wouldn't let her be alone. He had felt that way for a while, and for all his cocky one-liners and quips and curses here, there and everywhere as if he didn't have a care in the world… he _did_ care; especially about _her_. It was her that mattered most to him. The rest of the team was gone, destroyed by their last real enemy, and while they had not died in vain, or gone un-avenged, Abby was pretty much all he had left. Sighing lightly, almost unnoticeably, he watched her for a few moments more before he strode forward, boots surprisingly light and quiet on the rooftop below his feet. He stopped about three feet from her, seeing if she would acknowledge him.

… She did not.

Something was definitely wrong. She normally heard or felt him coming from at least ten feet, but to have her brush off his approach completely or go unaware was out of character for the fiery young woman. His frown deepened a fraction. He paced closer, and came up beside her, the hood on his thin sweater lifting just a little from the flat of his back. He angled his head just for a moment, looking to her, seeing how she almost hugged her arms around her frame to either keep herself warm, or keep herself feeling secure. Abigail never felt vulnerable… why now?

And then it hit him. It came to him in a brilliant flash or realisation, and his brow furrowed with sadness for a few seconds before he pushed it all away. Never, in their history together, had she wanted his sympathy; he wasn't about to start handing it to her now, especially after all that had happened… not unless she asked for it, even if only silently.

"How well did you know him?" he asked gently, seeing her soft eyes turn to him in realisation that she was not alone. A flicker of surprise registered for a moment, before it changed to an unreadable light.

"Well enough," she replied blankly. Her tone weighed him down, and he felt small; very small. For someone of his height, that was quite an achievement.

"And…" he ventured, sliding his hands into his pockets idly, "you miss him."

A dry, quiet laugh whispered past her lips as she cocked her head, eyes still staring down at the blinking lights of the city at night. She fell quiet, disturbingly so, and then murmured, "Yes… yes I do." Her eyes lifted into his as he turned them to her. "Wedlock or not, he was my father."

Hannibal nodded slowly, not sure he understood, but staying quiet in acknowledgement of the fact that if she wanted to persist, she could.

"I may not have known him as well as I should have, or wanted to… but I loved him. You know better than anyone how I came to be what I am, and I have him to thank for that."

He did not nod this time, head lowered in a light bow as he stared at the space just in front of his feet. Abigail fell quiet, and after a moment, he looked to her again, only fleetingly, before his eyes gazed out over the skyline. "I know I didn't really… know him, your father, but I know he was proud of you; how could he not be? I mean, look at you." He smiled, affectionately, but not crudely. "You're amazing, Abby… strong, fast, smart… and you kick serious ass."

Abigail laughed at that, if only quietly; it was better than nothing.

"And it's perfectly natural to miss him, all right? So you can sit up here on this rooftop until the sun comes up, but it's not going to make it any less human. It doesn't make you weak, or fragile… or vulnerable." Here, she removed her arms from around herself so tightly, as if in response to his little speech, even as he persisted, "But for what it's worth, I admire your courage. You lost your father, and you never got to say goodbye, or all the things you probably wanted to. But…" He paused for a moment, trying to think of something else reassuring, only to fall flat on that, and remain silent, feeling somewhat foolish at the same time.

"But what?" she muttered, looking up at him, curious and almost pleading for him to continue. He quickly decided that, while she was endearing no matter how he saw her, he preferred the confident and somewhat lethal Abigail as opposed to the wounded and alone one.

"But…" he began again, "he loved you. You can't ask for more than that. He died for what he believed in, and you carry on that fight. It's what he would have wanted."

Her lips turned up in a light smile, an appreciative and warm one, and she leaned against him for a moment, her forehead resting on his shoulder almost as if she were drawing strength from his frame. He smiled wanly down at her. "Either you're feeling better," he said lightly, "or you're secretively trying to push me off this building. I can't decide which."

Another laugh ruffled the fabric of his sweater and he smirked cheekily, even as she looked up at him again, a smile on her face. "You're unbearable sometimes."

"But you love me anyway," he reassured with a small grin.

Abigail leaned against him again with a light sigh, confirming with a confident, "Yes, I do."

Hannibal smiled softly, and bent his head down to kiss the top of her head gently, resting his own against hers for a comforting moment, warmed by the proximity. He hated seeing her down, which was infrequent enough as it was, but when it did come about, he felt responsible for cheering her up or consoling her however he could. As long as he could see that smile, it lessened the weight on his shoulders; it made him feel a little more secure somehow. He knew she wasn't under his care, and she could handle herself – _more_ than handle herself, in fact; she gave him a run for his money sometimes – but he felt he had to look out for her. There was no one else left, and he couldn't bear to think of anything happening to her.

Regardless of deeper feelings about her than he was about to admit, he stood there with her, each of them leaning against the other for comfort and reassurance as the dawn approached. Hannibal sighed, and rested his head atop hers gently again, content to stay that way until she'd had her time to mourn and reflect.

After all, he would always be there for her.


End file.
